Foiled, Again – Daniel 4

[For back story see lower numbers in archive]

It was sort of predictable that Daisy would want to make Rice Krispie cakes. And although Daniel tried to think that they were bonding over something as wholesome as cooking (despite the recipe being mainly sugar based) he also had this nagging feeling that every spoonful of Rice Krispies dedicated to this activity was one spoonful less on stand-by to placate the child in times of need. Cover them in chocolate and they’d go far quicker than when presented in a bowl with milk, he thought. But the problem with eating anything at this time was that there would always be less of it for later.

Nevertheless, Daniel continued, admiring his own skill at using the kitchen scales which, to be honest, hadn’t seen the light of day since… well probably since his ex-wife had used them for something or other. One of her four kinds of soda breads, probably.

“Need to mix it!” Said Daisy excitedly.

“Yes, but we have to melt the chocolate first,” said Daniel, hazarding a guess at the next stage rather than checking. He turned his back to find the golden syrup and in the time it took him to do so Daisy had ignored his advice and was merrily throwing the broken-up lumps of chocolate into the weighing tray with the Krispies.

“Wait, wait wait!” said Daniel, expertly reeling in his anger. “Not yet, hold your horses! – Especially the sparkly horses!”

Thankfully the last comment earned a smile and contentment from his daughter, defusing her building anxiety.

It also meant he could introduce a game of fishing-out-the-chockie-bits, an entirely made-up on the spot activity which Daisy agreed to as long as she could eat every other piece she rescued from the bowl. (Daniel was also pleased when he bartered this down to every fourth piece, thereby only using an extra quarter of the chocolate supplies rather than a half.)

Having split the mixture back up into its original components Daniel put the things that needed melting together into one bowl and put it in the microwave. The recipe advised intermittent zapping of a few minutes or so, interrupted by stirring. Daniel knew that the traditional technique of stove-top melt and stir was more hands-on, wholesome and educational (probably) but his chosen option was a bit more health and safety. He’d been in too many situations when he’d told Daisy not to do something (“don’t touch the hot thing!”) only for that to be the first thing she did after he’d said it.

Having zapped and stirred for long enough the duo successfully tipped in the Krispies, gave it all a stir and messily spooned most of it into the waiting cake cases.

“Eat-eee time!” sang Daisy.

“Not quite yet…” said Daniel, to which Daisy moan/screamed and burst into tears. “But soon – veeeeery soon,” he said hugging her and thrusting Mr Sparklehat into her hands. “Tell Mr Sparkehat how good it will all taste,” he said, “when it’s cold and ready.”

At that point an alarm went off on Daniel’s smart watch, informing him of an incoming work email. Daniel swiftly scanned the room for potential hazards, decided Daisy’d be fine for the minutes it would take him to deal with this and went to his laptop next door.

Logging on he found a swift message from the company’s MD – Malcolm’s boss. In brief, said the MD, he and Daniel should talk about a new marketing campaign, and in particular the use of a contact the MD had found who could help. When was Daniel free? He scanned his diary, sent a suggestion and closed the lid.

Daniel returned to the kitchen with a lightness of heart. This could be a new start for the business, he thought and – dare he think it? – one where Malcolm was not involved. However, his lightness was never going to last long. In fact, it didn’t last past the door frame, because in the time it had taken him to address the email, Daisy had found the aluminium foil in one of the kitchens drawers. Wonderous at the material she’d torn strips off it, balled them up and then, wanting to give Mr Spaklehat a special sparkly snack, she put them in a bowl, put the bowl in the microwave and turned it on (“Sparkly, Sparkly, Sparkle,” she sang as the promising meal rotated.)

Daniel was there in time to see the fireworks and to bundle his daughter to the floor as the oven door blew open with an impressive shot of flame.

The force of the explosion blew the chocolate cakes, every one of them, onto and across the floor, rendering them, according to Daniel’s estimates, inedible and therefore an entire waste of food.

“Oh, shed,” said Daniel as the dust settled.